The Reasons Why
by gnbrules
Summary: When his son gets into a fight at school, Neal asks for Peter's help in finding out the reason why. Future-fic centering on family and friendship, with a dash of Neal/Sara.


**The Reasons Why**

**Summary: When his son gets into a fight at school, Neal asks for Peter's help in finding out the reason why. Future-fic centering on family, friendship, with a dash of Neal/Sara. **

**A/N: This is a sequel to "The Essence of a Caffrey**_**" **_**and "The Great Cake Caper," though it could be read on its own. I initially meant for it to be along the same lines: short and sweet and relatively plotless. But I also wanted to progress Aaron Caffrey to a teenager, and in doing so this story took on a heavier plot, became a touch less fluffy, and became more than a thousand words longer than the last two combined. What I'm saying is, I hope people still enjoy it even though it's a bit different than the other two in the series (and it comes about two years later, haha).**

"He won't talk to me, Peter," says Neal. "He won't tell me what caused the fight and the principal didn't get anything out of him either. The other boy swears Aaron hit him first and he's not even denying it. He's suspended now and I don't know what to do with him."

Peter's immediate thought is that the hassle like this is probably why him and El always felt perfectly fine never having kids of their own in the first place. For so long, they'd dedicated themselves to work and each other and that had always been enough. But then he really takes in Neal's expression, the one that asks for help and guidance, and he feels the undeniably paternal tug in his chest and he knows it's not true anymore. _We never had kids, my ass, _he thinks wryly.

Peter's sitting in the Caffrey kitchen, Neal leaning restlessly against the counter. Two cups of coffee on the table, Peter's nearly gone, Neal's untouched. Sara's working late, and now Neal's called him over to help with a situation he apparently feels unequipped to handle alone.

"What makes you think he'll tell me, Neal?" Peter asks finally, draining the last of his coffee. Neal gives him a patented, _come on Peter _stare.

"Oh, don't act like this is news to you," Neal says, with a hint of accusation. "How many times has Aaron gone to you over the past few months with stuff he wouldn't tell me or Sara? Remember when he asked you for advice about the girl he liked? God, my pride's still stinging on that one..." Neal sighs dramatically, and Peter can't help but grin a little at the memory. It had been the highlight of his day when Aaron had confided in him about his crush, and Neal's annoyance had been a nice little cherry on top.

Still, he doesn't want Neal doubting himself as a parent. God knows he's come a long way. "Neal, he's just a teenager now," Peter reassures him. "No teenager wants to talk to their parents about things like that."

Neal rolls his eyes. "Yes, Peter, I know. I'm not upset about it. That's why I called you to come over and talk to him, though. He'll open up to you. You're his favorite uncle."

Peter raises an eyebrow, quirks a smile. "Don't let Mozzie hear you say that."

"Peter, Moz internally conceded defeat the day Aaron showed more interest in a baseball game than going to a museum."

_That_ _one _had taken all Peter's restraint not to gloat. He was never good with kids – or he never felt good with kids – til Aaron came along and took to him like no kid ever had before. And they all know that if there's anyone to get a story out of him, it's Peter.

"Alright, I'll talk to him," Peter says finally, standing up from his seat at the kitchen table. "But hey, do you still have that spare baseball glove for when you guys play catch?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just get it."

Neal shoots him a look of uncertainty, but then leaves Peter alone in the kitchen for a minute or two to retrieve it. He comes back with the baseball mitt, then hands it to Peter reluctantly. "This seems like a reward, don't you think?"

"No better place to talk than over a game of catch," Peter smiles, taking the glove. He turns towards the stairs in the hall, feeling Neal's eyes on his back as he makes his way up towards Aaron's room. He knocks lightly on the door once he reaches it. There's a shuffle of movement from within, then a small, familiar voice. "Come in," it calls.

Peter steps inside.

The thirteen year old is sitting at his desk, the sketchbook he hasn't let anyone look at for months open in front of him. God knows they've all been curious to see how much his natural Caffrey talent is progressing, but he's become pretty private about it, like some kids might be about their journals. They know better than to push the subject, allowing for the privacy that was certain to become even more of a demand as Aaron got older.

Aaron closes the sketchbook and swivels his chair in Peter's direction. He's Neal-in-miniature, though Peter suspects that if he keeps growing at the rate he is, he might end up being even taller than his father. Or maybe he just looks lanky in that awkward way teenage boys sometimes do.

"I was hoping Dad wouldn't tell you..." Aaron says in way of greeting.

"Are you really surprised he did?"

Aaron sighs. "No."

Peter smiles slightly. "Grab your glove, Kid. We're going out to play catch for a bit."

Aaron brightens immediately, but then turns disbelieving, suspicious. "Really? I...aren't I in trouble?"

"Then this may be your last chance out before you're grounded forever. You're really going to turn that down?" Peter jokes, and Aaron swallows nervously, but goes for his glove and baseball nonetheless.

The two make their way down the stairs and outside. Neal must have made himself scarce and they don't see him on the way out, but Peter's sure Neal could probably hear the tell-tale sign of the front door opening and closing behind them.

The small playground is just down the block from the house. When Neal and Sara had been looking for a new place, Sara had for some reason set her heart on this one, despite it being somewhat smaller and more expensive than some other options on the table. At the time, El had explained to Peter that she was pretty sure the nearby park was one reason why. "She may not know it yet," El had said with a knowing smile, "But she's already thinking about kids." Peter hadn't been so sure, but then Sara was pregnant within the year and El just laughed and said, _ I told you so. _

When Aaron was young, he'd been all about the swings, the slides, the jungle gym. Now it was just about the open space, so hard to come by in New York, which allowed him room for things like catch or soccer or football.

There's a few younger kids now on the playground equipment, their parents watching from park benches, and Peter is struck by the memory of hoisting a four year old Aaron up to finish his monkey-bar goal. It was a simple fix for a childhood problem.

Now there's this teenager, his lip swollen just a bit, the only sign of damage on an adolescent face. Things are a little more complicated these days, it seems.

"That's quite the busted lip you got there," Peter says as they reach the grassy bare stretch of playground, Aaron automatically taking a spot across from him, a couple dozen or so yards away. Throwing distance.

Aaron attempts a smile from across the gap, making his swollen lip a little less noticeable as it recedes around his teeth. "You should see the other guy," he says.

Peter raises an eyebrow that says what he doesn't have to say – he's not amused at the idea of a fight, even if he's not here to be the disciplinarian. Aaron's smile falters, clearly reading the expression correctly. Peter waits until they've both slipped their baseball gloves on and have a back-and-forth going before he speaks again.

"Fist fights aren't like you, Aaron," Peter says. He deftly catches the ball in his glove, the conversation punctuated with the easy rhythmic sounds of the ball hitting the leather mitts.

"Kevin's a jerk, Uncle Peter. He deserved it," he replies, and Aaron's next throw is faster and goes a bit wide, but Peter snags it with his long reach. As he tosses it back, he registers this new information.

Kevin Harris – Aaron had complained about him before, making him out to be quite the bully. Mostly just mean-spirited words, and mostly to Aaron's friends more than himself, but Aaron had always taken that personally as well. Peter mulls that over, and it sparks a theory.

"Were you standing up for someone, Aaron?" Peter asks, because he could easily see that scenario playing out. It was one of the few things that would make sense of Aaron's behavior, since, as far as Peter knows, the kid's never been in any physical fight before now.

Aaron flushes slightly, doesn't meet Peter's eyes. "Doesn't matter," he says, so quietly Peter has to strain to hear it over the gleeful shouts of the little kids on the jungle gym.

"It does to me," Peter replies steadily, taking an extra long moment before throwing. "Listen, Aaron, hitting him still wasn't okay and I know you know that. But knowing you did the wrong thing for a right reason – it'll help your Dad and the school go easy on you. It really didn't help that you wouldn't at least explain your side of the story."

Blue eyes meet Peter's, and Aaron looks so young still. He's a smart kid for his age, and sometimes Peter forgets that it doesn't change how much he still depends on others. He knows he's about to get the truth now, and he knows it's because Aaron actually does_ want_ to talk about it with someone. Peter tries not to think about how much harder this might be in a couple years, when he's sixteen or seventeen and truly unwilling to share what's on his mind.

He hopes that day is a long way off.

"It was Dad." Aaron says quietly, and Peter feels a jolt in his stomach. "I guess Kevin's dad knows about my dad and the stuff he used to do. So Kevin was saying Dad should still be in prison and he was telling other kids in my class. I told him to shut up and he didn't. So I hit him."

"And you didn't tell anyone because-"

"I don't know," Aaron says, and he stares at the baseball in his hand for a long moment. He doesn't even throw it, he just stands there, contemplating, talking across the gap between them. "I just didn't think Principal Stevens needed to know Dad's life story. Or that Dad would like it that I was fighting because of stuff about him."

There's a short silence as Peter processes this, and he can't say he blames Aaron at all. There's something else though, a look on Aaron's face that Peter doesn't like to see. It looks like doubt.

Peter recognizes it and he will not let it take hold of Aaron, but he won't sugarcoat it either. Aaron's old enough to understand what he says next. He gestures for the ball, and Aaron finally remembers to throw it back.

Peter catches it, and it's his turn to hold the baseball hostage, the cool weight of it reassuring in his hand. "Aaron, it's true your dad has done bad things in the past," he says. "But he served his time in prison and working with me, and he did a lot of good things too during that time. Saved people's lives, saved mine a few times. Having done bad things in the past _does not_ make him a _bad person._"

Aaron nods. "Yeah," he says. And then more fervently, now burning slightly with renewed justification and a touch of anger. "I know he isn't. That's why I punched Kevin."

Peter has to hold back the laugh and keep his expression stern, and just barely manages it. He says calmly but kindly, "Next time, just try and ignore it, alright, Kid? What he says isn't worth _you_ getting in trouble."

Aaron nods as Peter tosses the ball back, "Yeah, I'll try, Uncle Peter. Are you...are you going to tell Dad what I said?"

Peter looks at Aaron and knows his concerns. It has nothing to do with his own self-preservation now; he just doesn't want his father to blame himself, and Peter feels a rush of pride that Aaron is so protective of his family. _Neal and Sara, they're doing something right, _he thinks happily.

Still, he has to go with his gut on this one. "I really think I should, Aaron. Your dad wants to know, and I think you two should be able to talk about it. But it's going to be fine."

Aaron nods and accepts it, and there's not a lot more to say, after that. They keep playing catch awhile longer though, and Peter tosses Aaron a few fly balls for practice, all but one of which he's able to catch with athletic grace. He'll be ready come the summer league, and for junior high try-outs next year.

After, they begin the walk back towards the house. Sara's car is parked on the street now, and she greets them when they walk inside together.

"There's that delinquent son of mine," she says, and pulls Aaron into a hug he all but squirms out of it.

"Mooom," he groans, and she laughs.

"And you," she rounds on Peter, who looks taken aback, "I swear, every time you take him out, I'm never sure if you're bringing him back."

Peter grins. "At least you know he'd be in good hands," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"Go wash up," she tells Aaron, and he does.

Neal enters just as he leaves, eyes sweeping from Sara to Peter, his voice borderline urgent. "So did he tell you?"

Peter braces himself, decides to get it out there quickly. "Kevin, the kid Aaron punched? I guess his dad knows your story and now Kevin's telling other kids you still belong in prison."

When Neal winces, Peter very nearly regrets not trying to soften that news a little more. Peter almost reaches out for him but Sara gets there first, her hand to Neal's back in a show of support.

"You know," Neal starts, and it's hard not to notice the touch of sadness in his voice, "From the day Aaron was born, I always wondered if my problems were going to become his. Sins of the father, and all that. I know how that can happen better than anyone," he says, and the memory of James hangs between them. "And I also knew one day he'd be old enough to google my name and maybe not like what he saw."

"Hon," Sara says, "He loves you. Why do you think he stood up for you?"

"Exactly," Neal says. "Kids aren't supposed to have to stand up for their parents, it's supposed to be the other way around."

Peter's eyes catch on his. "Neal, none of us are clean slates. We all get baggage from our parents, but that's not the most important thing. The important thing is loving Aaron and raising him right, and that's the stuff he's going to remember when he's an adult making his own decisions. That's who you are to him."

Neal acknowledges it with a grateful nod, though he still looks a little unsettled. "Thanks, Peter. And thanks for talking to him, too."

Peter smiles back, and Sara leans in slightly to speak to Neal, softly. "And I think it's your turn now," she says, and Neal nods.

"Guess so," he replies.

Neal heads up to Aaron's room. The door is open when he gets there so he walks in without announcement. Aaron is on the bed, texting on the cellphone they got him for his birthday. Thirteen had seemed like a good age to learn the responsibility of having one, and it's honestly just convenient now that his son's schedule of extracurricular activities and sports means he needs rides and a way to reach them.

Aaron puts the phone down when Neal comes in, then swings his feet off the bed to sit up. "Hey, Dad."

Neal sits down at Aaron's desk chair, swivels it to face his son and rolls it a little closer to the bed. "Hey."

Somehow the words have left Neal, and he struggles to find them again. What do you say to your son that defended you for your past, but went about it the wrong way? Your kid who, in your mind, will always deserve more than a father with a reputation and prison record? Still, this isn't really about him, and he's got to try. "Your Uncle Peter told me what happened," Neal says finally.

"It's not a big deal," Aaron replies, looking uncomfortable.

"You got suspended from school for two days, Aaron...it's not exactly _not _a big deal, either."

Aaron looks down at his lap, and Neal reaches out to touch his shoulder. "Hey, I'm not mad. And you could have told me, Aar. I just want you to know you don't have to defend me like that."

"But you _don't _belong in prison."

Neal smiles. "No, I don't. Haven't for a long time. But it doesn't matter to me, and shouldn't matter to you, who says otherwise. Okay?"

"Okay."

"As for your punishment," says Neal, "I'll be taking that," he says, pointing at the cellphone still resting on the bed, "until your suspension is over, and no computer use for anything but homework, either."

Aaron groans, but knows there's no point in arguing. He reaches for it and hands it over, reluctantly letting go.

"Dad, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I know you don't really like talking about the things you did..."

It's true. Neal hasn't always been eager to discuss the past. Aaron's heard some of it, from Peter and Mozzie and even Sara, and the only thing Neal's really enforced himself over the years is the fact that he was never violent and never really ran with overtly violent people. The fact is, he doesn't entirely regret most of his stories because that life he had been leading...it led to the life he has _now. _

Which he wouldn't change for anything.

But his crimes, real and _alleged, _aren't something he wants to make light of for his son. Heaven forbid Aaron ever followed in his footsteps. Years late, he understands a bit of what Peter must have gone through, with Neal's own occasional regressions.

"It's okay, Aar. You can always ask or tell me anything, no matter what."

"Well, I was just wondering what made you stop doing the stealing and stuff? I mean, I know Uncle Peter caught you and you went to jail, then you worked with him at the FBI, but is that why you stopped? Because you didn't want to go back to jail?"

Neal's surprised by the question, but after a moment he recovers and then smiles. Because as it turns out, he has an honest answer that actually fits the lesson he wants to give his son. "No, actually. I mean, I didn't want to go back, of course. But the reason I really stopped, why I wanted to change for good, is because I found people who wanted me to and believed I could. There are always people worth being better for, Aaron. For me, that was your uncle, your mom, and now most importantly..._you," _he says quietly. And then he's enfolding his son into a hug. To his surprise and joy, his too-old-for-hugs teenager actually allows it and hugs back, his arms going loosely around Neal's neck, his face buried, just for a moment, into Neal's chest.

Over Aaron's head, Neal suddenly sees Peter standing just outside the open bedroom door. The two lock eyes and Neal silently asks, with a scrutinizing tilt of the head, _how much of that did you hear?_

Peter's warm smile is answer enough.

**A/N: Happy Belated Father's Day!**


End file.
